


A Tale of Two Wolves

by The_Grey_Angel



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: 'Cause when you're apart you don't want to mingle, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Canon Compliant, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, When you're together you want to be single
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Grey_Angel/pseuds/The_Grey_Angel
Summary: The reader is AFAB and genderfluid. They were dropped at Kaer Morhen at the age of 6 by their abusive father, beaten half to death.  Fortunately, Vesemir agreed to take them in.  They/them pronouns for the reader, for now. I'm bad at summaries y'all. Also, this was written in the middle of the night. All mistakes are mine. And yes, I know girls can't be Witchers but the reader isn't female and I've found nothing in the lore about non-binary and trans folks not being able to become Witchers.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	1. First Weeks

You barely registered when your father threw you off the cart and dragged you behind himself. You had barely registered the ride in the cart, either. You groaned weakly in pain, but he ignored you. There was a loud banging on a heavy door, somewhere above your head, and then voices. You recognized your father’s voice but not the other man’s. You caught some bits of the conversation.

“Girls can’t be Witchers.” You heard the stranger say. 

“It’s no girl,” your father spat. “Do what you want with it, I don’t care.” 

*****

When you woke up, the pain was still there but duller. You opened the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut and looked at your surroundings. You were in a bed, in a room made of stone walls, and there was a dresser at the end of the bed. An older man was sitting next to you. You tried to speak, but a strangled noise was all that came from your mouth.

“Don’t try to speak,” the old man said in a gentle tone. “I’m afraid it’s going to take you a few days before you can do that again… Are you hungry?” You nodded in reply, and he helped you sit up in the bed, propping you up with pillows. You whined in pain. “I know, I’m sorry, my dear.” He grabbed a bowl of soup from a bedside table you hadn’t noticed and brought it to your lips. You took small, hesitant sips, and the old man smiled encouragingly. When he seemed satisfied, he put the bowl down again. “Get some rest, child. No one will hurt you here.”

*****

The next time you awoke, a boy was sitting next to you, changing your bandages. He had white hair, too, like the old man, but he looked much younger. He also had golden eyes, like a cat’s. He glanced at you before returning to his task. You watched him work, neither of you speaking. Once he was done, he gathered your dirty bandages and left the room without a word. 

Not long after, another boy walked in, holding a bowl of soup. He had brown hair and a large, disfiguring scar across his face. “I’m Eskel,” he said. “That was Geralt. He’s not much of a talker.” He chuckled to himself as he sat down next to you. You attempted to speak, but only a raspy croak came out. “It’s okay. Have some soup.” Eskel helped you sit up and held the bowl to your lips as you drank from it. 

*****

You don’t know how many days passed but, each time you woke up, you felt a little better. Eventually, you were able to talk and then walk. You learned the old man was named Vesemir and that you were in Kaer Morhen. You had told him your name, too, and your age. You hadn’t said much else, however. Your father had beaten near silence into you. When you were able to make it down the stairs, you joined the others in the kitchen for meals. In time, you started helping with small tasks, but nothing too straining. 

There were other boys, ones that were closer to your age. Most of them were pretty quiet, just like you. You could tell, by looking at them, that their parents had been just as great as your father. During the meals, you sat next to one in particular. His name was Luke. What small conversations you did have were lovely and, the rest of the time, you played quiet games together. 

One day, Vesemir sat down and asked to talk to you in private. Luke quickly got up and ran along with other boys. “I wanted to ask you something, Y/N,” the old Witcher started. “I’ve seen you watch the boys train,” he didn’t say it as an accusation, but you curled in on yourself out of reflex anyway. “You aren’t in trouble,” he assured you. “I wanted to ask if you would like to train with them.” You looked at him with wide eyes and nodded eagerly. He chuckled warmly. “I thought as much. Let’s get you armoured up.”

*****

You trained hard every day, wanting to prove yourself despite not being a boy. A month and a half into your stay at Kaer Morhen, you were sparring with a boy, and Geralt was supervising. You were doing much better than the boy, Terrance, and you couldn’t help but smile. You struck his knee with your wooden sword, making him fall. 

You grinned proudly, earning a disapproving grunt from Geralt. “Don’t get cocky,” he warned you. It was the most he had spoken all day. “You get cocky; you get careless. You get careless; you get killed.” The teenager swiped at your leg with his, quickly knocking you down on your ass. 

You groaned as you hit the ground. “Ow… You didn’t have to do that,” you mumbled. The constant rigorous training had emboldened you, and you had less trouble speaking your mind than during your first week. You went to get up, but Geralt stopped you with a boot on your chest. 

“Go take a break, Terrance,” he said, not taking his eyes off you. Terrance didn’t waste a moment to scramble away from the two of you. You glared defiantly at Geralt, but he seemed unphased. “Get up.” He took his foot off your chest, and you stood up. “Hit me.”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“With your sword,” he replied, getting in a combat stance. You took a swung at him, and he easily blocked it with his forearm. “Again,” he commanded. You tried to hit his leg next, but he stopped the wooden sword once more. “Again.”

You took swing after swing, never managing to actually hit where you wanted to. For hours, you kept trying to hit Geralt, getting more frustrated by the minute. At the end of it, you were panting, grunting with each attempted blow. The only reason you noticed it was getting dark was that Vesemir spoke up. 

“Enough.” The dad voice was engaged. “Go clean up for supper, Y/N. Geralt, a word?”

You glanced between the two white-haired men and promptly made your way inside the keep to get cleaned up and eat with the others. 

*****

Each day of training left you exhausted, collapsing in bed and falling asleep within minutes. But no matter how exhausted, you still had nightmares every night. Every time you dreamed of your father beating you. In new and creative ways, every night. The same way he had since your mother had died of the plage. _You should have been the one to die. You’re an abomination. Not a boy or a girl. Worthless piece of shit._

And every morning, you woke up with a strangled cry, covered in a cold sweat. Every morning, you bathed, got dressed and walked down to the kitchen for breakfast, like you had had the most peaceful and restful of night’s sleep. And every day, for four more years, you ate, trained, ate, trained, ate, passed out, repeat. You trained with Geralt and Eskel sometimes, when you were learning faster than the others. 

Eskel was nice. He could also hold a conversation, which was more than what could be said for Geralt. The white-haired teenager practically only talked to you when you were sparring. And even then, he was only letting you know what you were doing wrong. Eskel offered constructive criticism, at least. When you couldn’t move your arms anymore because they were too sore, he didn’t push you. He took you inside and poured you some ale as a reward for your hard work. And Vesemir. Vesemir was becoming like a father to you. He was a much better father than the one who had raised you, and he couldn’t even have children of his own. 

Luke was the only boy who was kind to you. Most of the others barely paid attention to you. But there was one, Yorrick, who delighted in tormenting you any way he could think of. You tried to ignore him the best you could but, now and then, you would get in a fight. Vesemir, Eskel or Geralt would stop you and send you to do chores as a punishment. 

On the day of your tenth year, you were having a conversation with Luke about the Trial of the Grasses and becoming Witchers. 

“I hear barely anyone survives,” Luke was saying. 

“Only the really strong ones,” you added. 

That’s the time Yorrick chose to interject with a low laugh. “Don’t be fucking stupid. Girls can’t be Witchers.” Luke and you tried to ignore him and move somewhere else, but the bully shoved you. “Where you going, _girl_?” He taunted you, and you did your best to stay calm, you really did. 

“I’m not a girl,” you gritted between your teeth. 

“Leave them alone!” Luke tried to pull you away from your tormentor. 

Yorrick laughed and shoved Luke back. “Defending your girlfriend, huh?” 

“I. Am. Not. A. Girl.” You growled. “Fuck off, Yorrick.” But he shoved you again, and you lost your cool. 

You sucker-punched him in the nose and were rewarded by a satisfying crunch. He cursed at you and tried to punch you back, but you ducked out of the way and kicked him in the stomach. You exchanged blow after blow, you landing more than he did. His nose was bleeding, and he was snarling at you. You were snarling right back, but there was a hint of a smile on your face. 

“Enough.” Vesemir’s thundering voice made the two of you freeze. “Again? We don’t fight our own.”

“He called me a girl, and he shoved me!” You protested. 

“You are a girl,” Yorrick spat blood at you. 

“I said enough.” Vesemir was not having any of it. “Yorrick, go empty the chamberpots. Y/N, go clean the kitchen.” 

Yorrick walked off, but you weren’t done. “He started it! I’m not a fucking girl!!”

“I know that.” The old Witcher held up a hand to stop you. “But he won’t be the last to mistake you for one. Are you going to fight everyone who does?”

You grumbled. “If I have to…” Your surrogate father arched a brow at you, and you groaned in annoyance. “No…”

“That’s what I thought. Now, go, do your chores.”

You dragged your feet all the way over to the kitchen, not looking where you were going. And you bumped into someone. Said someone grabbed you by the scruff, and you instinctively punched whoever it was. Fortunately, Geralt was faster and easily blocked your fist. 

“Whoa, there,” he drawled.

You looked up at him. “Sorry.”

He actually took a look at you and noticed the bruises that were already forming on your skin. “Yorrick again?” You nodded in response, and he grunted. “He’s a little shit… Does he look worse than you?”

You nodded again. “I broke his nose.” That made Geralt let out a brief chuckle, and you blinked in surprise. Geralt didn’t chuckle. 

But the mirth was quickly gone from his features. “Go, do your chores.” He let you go and walked away.


	2. Trials

It was the week of the Trial of the Grasses. All the boys had already gone through it. Well, the last one was currently undergoing it. You were just pacing in the courtyard, anxious as all Hell. None of the boys had come out of the keep. You hadn’t seen any of them, after their Trial. Not even Luke. You were doing your best to stay positive, but your hope was faltering. 

You jumped in surprise when the door opened, and Eskel spoke. “Vesemir wants to see you.” Was all he said.

You followed him inside, and the chamber where the Trial was held. There was a table in the center of it, with leather straps on it. And blood. And other things. You stopped in your tracks, and Eskel left you alone with Vesemir. 

“Wh-where’s Luke?” you asked in a shaky voice. Vesemir’s expression answered for him. You had heard tales, stories that said that Witchers felt no emotion, but you knew better, now. And Vesemir was definitely in pain. You let out a half-choked sob. “No…” 

Your surrogate father walked over to you and pulled you into a tight hug. He let you cry into his shirt, sobbing and sniffling until you had no more tears. You sobbed for a bit more, even after the tears had stopped. He rubbed your back comfortingly the whole time. 

“I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, his own voice sounding tighter than usual. 

“Do it to me, too, then…” You spoke after a long while.

Vesemir pulled back to look into your eyes. “It’ll only kill you. You’re not a boy.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m not a girl either. There’s never been someone like me who took the Trial, before.” Vesemir looked very hesitant, still. “If it’s my destiny, I’ll die. If not…” You trailed off. 

Vesemir took a deep breath of his own. “Are you sure?” You nodded. 

*****

There was arguing just outside the chamber, as you lay on the table, strapped to it. It was clear Eskel and Geralt didn’t approve, but you tried to tune out the yelling. They argued for a while before Vesemir came back in, slamming the door. You flinched a bit. 

“Are you still sure?” He asked, and you took another deep breath, nodding. 

It was horrific. The pain was worse than anything your father had ever inflicted upon you on his worst days. You screamed and thrashed and passed out and came back to consciousness, only to pass out again from the excruciating pain. You’re reasonably sure you threw up at one point. It lasted for what felt like months, years even. You thought you were going to die from it, you thought you did. But the pain let you know you were still alive. When it stopped, your eyes snapped open, and you screamed like a banshee. 

*****

You woke up in your bed, covered in a cold sweat. You heard a sigh of relief and looked to your right, only to see Geralt, sitting next to you. For half a second, he had looked worried, but it was gone so fast you weren’t sure it was even there. He made a motion to stand up and leave. You grabbed his wrist to stop him, your hand lightning fast. He looked at your hand, then at your eyes, seeming annoyed, but he didn’t pull his wrist back. 

“How long?” You asked him. 

Geralt seemed to contemplate his answer for a moment. “Three days.” You nodded and let go of him. He made no motion to leave again, however. “How do you feel?”

You groaned as you sat up. “Like I’ve been crushed by a mountain… Do I look different?” Geralt grunted and stood up to bring you a handheld mirror. He handed it to you, and you took a look. 

Your hair was white like his, now. You touched it hesitantly like you were making sure it was real. Your eyes were even more startling. They were a silver colour with slitted pupils. You looked at yourself for a while, touching your face and hair, trying to get used to your new appearance. 

“It’s gonna take you a few weeks, at least…”

*****

The training became even harder, now that you were a Witcher. It wasn’t just sword fighting and reading anymore. No, it was signs and alchemy and actual monster hunts. Those, you came to understand, were the next Trial. A Witcher who couldn’t kill monsters was no Witcher at all. Ten years old and you were already killing lesser vampires, with Vesemir, nearly getting yourself killed in the process. Once again, you would pass out quickly every night. Visions of bloodthirsty monsters now joined the ones of your father. Still, you never let it show in the mornings. 

*****

You grew up a Witcher. Killing monsters and sometimes getting paid for it. You had always been a quick learner, and a Witcher’s skillset was no different. Sometimes, you would hunt with Geralt or Eskel, sometimes Vesemir. 

When puberty hit, you started to see some things in a different light. People your age, for one, whenever you were in a village or town. You caught yourself looking at breasts and bulges, from time to time. Each time, you would look away quickly and try to ignore how it made you feel. And some nights, when you were alone, you would touch yourself, thinking of the people you had been checking out that day. 

Over the years, there was someone specific whom you started to see in a different light: Geralt. You realized it one night when you whimpered his name as you came, two fingers deep in your dripping pussy. The next day, you avoided looking at him, only talking to you when he spoke to you, which was practically never. 

Sometimes, as you approached adulthood, you thought you would catch him looking at you. But every time you looked at him, his gaze was somewhere else. You pined over him for years, always careful not to let it show. It wouldn’t go anywhere, anyway. Geralt didn’t see you like that. He never would. So you buried your feelings. 


	3. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta build that tension.

That night, like all the others, before it, nightmares plagued your mind. It was foglets this time. They were circling you, hiding in the mist. One of them lunged at you and grabbed you, sharp claws digging into your flesh. You awoke with a scream, horrified as you realized something was still gripping your arms. You reflectively started to squirm and kick your feet in an attempt to free yourself.

The owner of the hands that were holding you grunted. “Breathe,” Geralt spoke in a hushed tone, and you immediately stopped struggling. “You’re safe. You’re home…”

You looked up at him, your eyes quickly adjusting to the dim moonlight that filtered through the curtains on your window. “I…”

“Breathe,” he repeated. You took a few deep breaths, and he let go of your arms with a quick nod.

You sat up in your bed as Geralt leaned back into a standing position. “Sorry I woke you…” 

“You didn’t. I was already awake.”

You rubbed your eyes. “Oh…”

“You should try to go back to sleep, Y/N. We’re hunting forktails in the morning.” He made a move to turn around and leave, but you held out a hand to stop him. 

“Wait…” you said. He gave you a curious look. “Can you stay with me?” you asked, a little sheepishly. “Please? Just till I fall asleep?”

You received a gruff “Scoot over,” from Geralt, and you did as you were told. He sat on your bed and motioned for you to lay back down.

You did as instructed, once more, and watched as he laid down next to you but stayed on top of the covers. “Thanks,” you murmured and hugged him. You sensed him tense a little, but he didn’t protest or push you away.

With the warmth of Geralt’s toned body next to yours, it didn’t take you too long to fall asleep. And, for the first time in what felt like your whole life, you slept peacefully. 

*****

You grunted when Eskel knocked you on your ass, using Aard. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath and swiped at his leg with your foot. 

As he stepped back to avoid your blow, you cast Yrden just behind him. You smirked cause he stepped right into the trap, and you got back on your feet. The Witcher groaned in pain from the effects of the sign. You just pressed the end of your blade to his throat, ever so gently, and waited for Yrden to fade. 

When it did, Eskel pushed the blade away, chuckling. “Good job.” You grinned at the praise. “But monsters won’t always just step into your traps,” he reminded you. “You were lucky, this time.”

You cleared your throat and dropped the grin. “Right.”

“Again.”

You lunged at him, wooden blade arching down towards his chest. He just stepped to the side, easily avoiding it. You swung at him again, striking your target, this time. The two of you kept sparring well into the afternoon, most of your blows landing, much to your pride. Said pride must have been showing in your features or body language because Geralt saw fit to interrupt.

“Eskel, take a break,” the golden-eyed Witcher grunted. The other young man looked like he was about to protest, but something in Geralt’s expression must have convinced him otherwise because he promptly went inside the keep.

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “What?”

“I thought you knew better than to get cocky,” he answered. “Thought I taught you better.” You scoffed at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want to end up dead, in a ditch, before you’re 15?”

You glared at him. “I was doing fine.”

“You were letting your pride cloud your judgement. Eskel was gaining the upper hand, and you didn’t even notice.” Geralt nodded to your practice sword. “Drop it.”

“Why?” You crossed your arms, holding the hilt tighter. It looked a bit awkward, but fuck it. 

He sighed in annoyance. “You won’t need it for this next lesson. Now, stop being a brat and listen.”

You looked him right in the eye and threw the sword at him. He caught it effortlessly. “What, pray tell, is the lesson?” you asked. 

“Humility.” And then, the bastard sucker-punched you, hitting you in the jaw and making you bite your tongue. 

“Dick!” You spat blood at him and went for an uppercut to the sternum. Much to your satisfaction, you managed to hit him. He grunted in pain as you knocked the air out of his lungs.

“Brat,” he coughed out and punched you again. 

You proceeded to thoroughly beat the shit out of each other. By the time Vesemir separated the two of you, the sun was down, and you were both bloody and bruised. You were sent to your room to clean up, but not before your surrogate father gave you both quite the earful. Supper was quiet and awkward as all Hell, what with Vesemir glaring at both Geralt and you, all disappointed. 

The next morning, Vesemir tasked you with cleaning the stables. When you entered, Geralt was already there. You just flipped him off and got to work. He growled at you in response but didn’t actually say anything. You tried to stay quiet and carry out your punishment. You really did. You tried your very best. But you kept feeling like Geralt was looking at you, and every time you would try to catch him doing it, it wasn’t looking anywhere near you. You felt tension build in and around you, and it eventually got too much. 

“What??” Geralt snapped, startling a couple of horses. 

“I haven’t said shit,” you snapped right back. 

“You sure are thinking it.”

You barked out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, you’re a mind reader now?”

“Don’t need to be. It’s all over you.” His gruff voice was doing things to you, but you pushed those feelings aside. 

“You know what?” You leaned your pitchfork against the wall and fully faced your fellow Witcher. “There _is_ something I wanna say!”

Geralt gave you his signature sarcastic smile. “I’m all ears.”

“That ‘lesson’ yesterday? That wasn’t a fucking lesson; it was a poorly veiled excuse to punch the shit out of me!”

He scoffed. “Maybe you just weren’t paying attention.” He turned his back to you to go back to his task. 

“Don’t you fucking dismiss me, Geralt of Rivia!” You stomped over to him and put a hand on his shoulder to force him to turn. 

Lightning-fast, Geralt grabbed your wrist, swirled around and backed you up against a wall. “I’m _trying_ to teach you the skills you’ll need to survive in this world,” he spoke in a low, somewhat strained voice. You didn’t push him away, too shocked by his actions. “You _cannot_ let your emotions cloud your judgement, or you’ll get sloppy and _die_.” His face was less than an inch away from yours, and your breath got caught in your throat. “People say we don’t feel emotions and that's because we know better than to show any. Make sure you remember that.”

There was a moment before he let you go and stepped away from you. It seemed to last forever and not quite long enough, all at once. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, your eyes glued to his. You glanced at his lips for half a second then licked your own, your tongue passing so very close to his lips. One more heartbeat, and he was gone from your personal space. For the rest of the time it took to clean the stables, neither of you spoke.

*****

You groaned and tumped your forehead on the book you were currently reading. From day one, alchemy hadn’t been your best subject. You were much better at telling which plant was which than when you had been 10 years old, but you still had trouble remembering recipes. And right now, your head was aching from. Too. Much. Reading. You recognized the sound of someone sitting across from you, but you didn’t look up at whoever it was. You could give less of a fuck, at the moment. 

Vesemir’s voice echoed slightly in the chamber. “Alchemy?” You just grunted in response. He chuckled softly. “This might cheer you up, then.” You lifted your head just enough to look at him. “The forktail population around Kaer Morhen is getting a bit too large for my liking, again. Wanna go blow off some steam?”

You were up on your feet in about 0.3 seconds. “Fuck yeah! Let’s go!”

He gave a hearty chuckle. “Go get your horse ready. You’re going with Geralt.”

You did your very best to keep a neutral expression, but some of your enthusiasm bled through nonetheless. You hadn’t seen him for almost a year, not since the last winter. “He’s back?” 

Vesemir nodded. “He’ll meet you outside.”

You didn’t waste a second to grab your gear and get your horse ready. When you came out of the stables, Geralt was waiting for you. 

He nodded in greeting. “Y/N.”

“Geralt.” You returned his nod. You hopped on your horse, and the two of you rode out in somewhat uncomfortable silence. 

It took a long while for either of you to speak. You kept stealing glances at him, wondering what the fuck you were supposed to say to someone you hadn’t seen in so long? To someone you had feelings for, despite your best efforts? To someone you almost always butted heads with, whenever you two spoke, but couldn’t stop longing for, when you were apart. Guess destiny was a cruel bitch.

You were entering the forest when Geralt finally said something. “How have you been?” was his awkward attempt at small talk. 

“Since you pinned me against the stable wall and growled at me?” You bit the inside of your cheek, regretting the words as soon as they came out of your mouth. You didn’t want to start a fight with him. You never did, not really. There was just something about him that made you bristle, some times. 

“...yeah.”

You looked up to the sky in a silent prayer to the gods to help tame your tongue. “I’ve been alright, you?”

You heard your companion shrug. “Alright, too, I guess.”

There was no more small talk after that. You tracked and killed about 6 forktails that day. Surprisingly, the two of you worked like a well-oiled machine. It was almost like dancing, the way you moved together. Neither of you had to say much to understand each other. You hadn’t been this good at hunting together, before. You felt like an entirely different person had taken over your body, and you didn’t have to think, just hunt and slay. You mentioned it to Geralt, on your way back to Kaer Morhen. 

“Vesemir calls it the Witcher mindset,” he explained. “Your instincts take over, and you become a predator. Like the mutagens intended.”

You sat in silence for the rest of the ride, just repeating those words in your head, over and over again. You weren’t sure how you felt about that, just yet. Did one really have to become a monster to kill monsters?

*****

You were 19, travelling with Geralt for the first time in two years. You had managed to kill the werewolf and remain in one piece, which was good. You liked being in one piece. When the two of you stopped at an inn for some sleep and asked for a room, however, you were told there was only one room left. With only one bed. You were too exhausted to go back on the road, so you took it. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Geralt announced as soon as you had shut the door. 

“No, you’re more beat up than I am,” you shook your head. “I’ll take the floor.” But he was already putting his bedroll down. “Stubborn asshole…” You muttered, getting in the bed. 

“Mouthy brat,” he replied as he was laying down. 

You rolled your eyes and used the covers to hide your body as you got undressed. You put your armour on the floor, next to the bed, and settled in for the night.

Except you couldn’t fall asleep. You’d never had trouble with that before. But then again, you weren’t usually thinking about what Geralt’s naked body might look like, not while he was literally laying at the foot of your bed. You soon started squirming, rubbing your thighs together in the hopes of alleviating some tension. It wasn’t helping one bit. 

“Stop. Squirming,” Geralt groaned from his spot on the floor, making you freeze in shame. “Either deal with it or wait it out, but. Stop. Squirming.”

You laid immobile for what felt like an eternity. You couldn’t touch yourself! Not with _him_ in the room!! So you tried to wait it out. Your thoughts wandered, though. And in all honesty, it didn’t take all that much time for you to start squirming again, thinking about his gruff voice.

Geralt growled low in frustration and sat up. “I said, stop squirming. Do you even know how to take care of it?” 

His question made you blush furiously and stammer. “Y-yes! Yes, I know! I’m not 14 anymore…”

“Then take care of it,” he groaned, laying back down. “Before I take care of it for you…” 

That made you blush even more, and to your horror, it made you even wetter. “...that an offer?” The room got eerily quiet. For about 5 minutes. You could have heard a pin drop. 

After the 5 minutes, Geralt sat up again. “Do you want me to?”

After maybe a bit too long, you scoffed. “No…”

He grunted and laid back down once more. “G’night, then.”

You cleared your throat. “Night.” You hid your face under the covers, trying to compute what had just transpired. What was wrong with you?? This had been your chance, and you’d just ruined it! You just laid there, mortified, until you eventually managed to fall asleep.


	4. Chance Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a time skip.

After that night, you couldn't look Geralt in the eye. Thankfully, he didn't mention it. But still, you found a new contract, said your goodbyes and parted ways with him. And you kept on taking more Witcher contracts and finding excuses not to go back to Kaer Morhen. At first, you just wanted to avoid the awkwardness that would undoubtedly arise, should you see Geralt again. Then, it just became a habit. You did winter in Kaer Morhen, of course. Nowhere else was as warm and welcoming, in the winter or otherwise. You avoided Geralt the best you could, every time, making small talk when you bumped into each other. The others made up for your lack of conversation well enough, anyway. 

You only volunteered to train boys that would be dropped on the keep's doorstep once. You got attached to them and wept for those who didn't survive the Trial. You hurt too much to try again. Those who did survive, you had fewer issues working with. You taught them your ways like you had been taught before. You learned quickly not to get attached to them either. Not many survived the decade after their Trial.

You kept doing your job for decades. Sometimes, there was money; sometimes, there were monsters, rarely both. You would bind your chest, so people stopped asking how a woman could be a Witcher. You were tired of explaining that you weren't a woman or a man. Wherever you went, you heard rumours. You didn't pay them any mind, most of the time, but some caught your attention. First, there came the tale of the Butcher of Blaviken and you were reminded of Vesemir's advice to stay out of the affairs of people. 

Then came the song. The tale of the White Wolf. Except it wasn't about you. It was fine. Geralt could have all the fame. You'd never wanted that, anyway. It did become annoying when people kept confusing you for him because of the colour of your hair. You started keeping it short on the sides and in the back and longer on top. That didn't really help; people just started calling you the Other White Wolf. 

*****

You walked into a tavern and dropped the Grave Hag's head on the counter, as well as the contract for killing it. The innkeeper jumped at the sudden noise. He took one look at the severed head and quickly fumbled to grab the coin he owed you. 

"I'll be having lunch, too," you told him when he handed you the coin purse. 

"Right away, Master Witcher." He nodded frantically. "But what about the..." He vaguely motioned to the head. 

You shrugged. "Feel free to hang it on your wall." You made your way to a free table, ignoring the glances from the other patrons. 

The innkeeper's wife didn't take long in bringing your meal along with a jug of ale. "On the house." She smiled at you, clearly marginally less fearful of you than her husband. 

"Thank you." You returned her smile.

"No, thank you," she replied. "Let me know if you need anything else." You nodded in response, and she walked away. 

You enjoyed your free meal in peace until a familiar voice interrupted your rare moment of quiet. You looked up to see Geralt speaking to the innkeeper. Your fellow Witcher was accompanied by a young man who carried a lute on his back. Much to your dismay, the innkeeper pointed them in your direction. Geralt's expression was unreadable, but the same couldn't be said of his companion. The bard eagerly made his way over and sat across from you, grinning.

"Oh, this is brilliant!" he beamed. "I've been begging Geralt to introduce me to another Witcher for ages!"

Geralt joined the two of you and sat down with an annoyed grunt. "Jaskier, Y/N. Y/N, Jaskier." 

"You're responsible for the song," you deduced.

"It is an honour to meet you!" The bard eagerly shook your hand in his. 

You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, despite your initial displeasure. "Nice to meet you, too." You turned to Geralt. "And here I thought you worked alone."

"Can't get rid of him," he hummed. There was a hint of teasing to his tone that anyone who wasn't familiar with him would have missed. 

Before you knew it, Jaskier had pulled out a notebook and a quill. "So, how long have you known each other?" he asked. You arched a brow in response. 

"Jaskier..." Geralt sighed, and you gathered this was a common occurrence. 

You contemplated your options for a moment, then waved the innkeeper's wife over. "Some food and drink for my friends. Seems like we might be here a while."

"Right away." She nodded and went to the kitchens. 

"You don't have to do this," Geralt protested.

"Might as well." You shrugged. "We haven't seen each other in so long." Gods help you, just the sight of him was enough to stir up feelings you had spent decades burying as deep as possible.

"Just how long has it been?" Jaskier asked.

Geralt leaned back in his seat with a resigned sigh as you answered. "About three years. Since Geralt stopped wintering at Kaer Morhen." 

The bard proceeded to ask you an ungodly number of personal questions. You answered them but rarely elaborated, your answers tended to be short and to the point. Some things, like the fact that you weren't a man, for one, you preferred to keep close to your chest. He seemed to quickly catch on and switched to questions regarding your kills, rather than your life. You were a lot less stingy on the details when it came to those. Since Jaskier seemed to enjoy your stories so much, you spent the entirety of the meal regaling him with tales of your hunts. Now, you weren't exactly gifted with words, but he didn't seem to mind too much, enthusiastically taking notes the whole time. 

"...and just as it swooped down for another attack," you were saying. "I swung at the forktail and cut its head clean off." You caught a brief smile from Geralt, out of the corner of your eye. 

Jaskier grinned. "I'm going to make you famous," he promised. 

"Oh, uh..." you cleared your throat. "Thanks, really, that's super flattering, but--" You struggled to find the right words to let him down easy. "I'm not really one for... fame..."

"Oh." Jaskier lowered his notebook. "Right, of course, sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"It's fine," you interrupted him in your attempt to reassure him. "You didn't know." You quickly attempted to change the subject. "What are you doing in these parts?" you asked your fellow Witcher. "I took care of their Witcher contract."

"I saw," he replied gruffly. "We're just passing through."

"We're on our way to Cintra," the bard helpfully informed. "You should come with us."

The issuing looks you exchanged with Geralt lasted both for less than a second and for several hours, at the same time. You were conflicted between badly missing him and the pining that issued whenever you spent more than 5 minutes in his company. 

"I couldn't--" you started protesting.

"The more Witchers, the merrier!" Jaskier insisted. 

And that's how you ended up, despite your better judgement, on the road with a stoic Geralt and an enthusiastic Jaskier. At dusk, you made camp a little ways from the main road. Jaskier played some tunes, by the fire, some you knew, some you'd never heard before. His music had the added benefit of filling the awkward silence between Geralt and you. You were busy mentally repeating to yourself that this had been a terrible idea when he finally spoke up. 

"You cut your hair," he _very astutely_ remarked. 

"Yes," you pathetically failed to resist the urge to sass him. "I have cut my hair in the past three years." He just made an _hmpf_ sound in reply. 

There was another long, music-filled silence before he said anything else. "It looked better long."

You managed to keep your cool, but just barely. "Well, I had to cut it, didn't I? Everyone kept thinking I was you 'cause of that... song."

Geralt glanced at his bard companion. "Ah."

Jaskier cleared his throat awkwardly, and you sighed softly. "I'm not blaming you," you reassured the bard. "It's a catchy song."

"Are you two tired?" he asked. "Boy, am I tired." He yawned comically huge and bedded down for the night. 

"Night." You followed Jaskier's lead, grateful for the opportunity to end the conversation.

"Night," Geralt grunted. 

You had a restless night, filled with terrifying visions. This time, your usual nightmares were lightly spiced with the sight of Geralt's horribly mangled corpse cradled in your arms. You woke up just before dawn with tears in your eyes. You quickly wiped them off and checked that your fellow travellers were still asleep. 

Your gaze must have lingered on Geralt's face for too long because he stirred on his bedroll. "What?" His baritone was even deeper than usual. 

"Nothing," you lied. 

"Bullshit," he replied, not even opening his eyes. 

You turned away and shut your eyes. "Just checking if you're still alive."

Nothing but the sound of your breathing and the song of early morning birds interrupted the quiet that settled after you'd spoken. If it hadn't been for your superior senses, you would have thought he had gone back to sleep. Before too long, Jaskier's breathing changed, indicating he was awake as well. You quickly busied yourself with reviving the fire and making a semblance of breakfast. 

*****

The following day's journey was uneventful, boring even. Jaskier's chatter and singing more than made up for Geralt's lack of talking. You far preferred it to the possibility of you arguing with your fellow Witcher. When you stopped at an inn for the night, you were informed that there was only one room left, giving you some serious déjà vu. 

"I'll sleep on the floor," you announced before the door was even shut. 

"Fine with me." Jaskier plopped down on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. Geralt just grunted and pulled out his bedroll. 

*****

You were woken up in the middle of the night by heavy breathing and subtle groans. It took you less than a second to realize what Geralt was doing, the scent of his arousal overwhelming your senses. You knew pretending to sleep wouldn't usually work, but you hoped he was too busy to realize you were awake and very much aware of his actions. You did your best to tune him out but couldn't ignore how hearing him reach his climax affected you. 

*****

_*POV change whaaaaaaaaa*_

Geralt would have been lying if he had said he hadn't missed you. As the group got back on the road, he couldn't help but glance at you from time to time. The contrast between the lanky, malnourished kid that Vesemir had carried into Kaer Morhen, all those years ago and the experienced Witcher riding in front of him, was a bit jarring. He would never admit to anyone but himself, but he was proud of just how far you had come. He couldn't help the pang of jealousy he felt when you helped Jaskier join you unto your horse. The moment he and Jaskier had met up with you, emotions he had refused to feel for so long had started bubbling up to the surface. Your laughter as you told Jaskier stories of your kills warmed his heart. The way you somehow always smelled of sunshine, honey and dust after a storm had his head swimming. And the way the corners of your eyes crinkled whenever you smiled reminded him of simpler days. That night, he woke up to the sound of you whimpering. You were twisting and turning on the spot, thanks to your nightmares. He had wanted to hold you so badly and remembered why he had stopped wintering in Kaer Morhen: you needed someone better than him. 

All-day, he kept reminding himself of that fact. His resolve only faltered during the night. Your sleeping situation brought back the memory of you squirming on the only bed and your arousal that had flooded his senses. He thought about what might have happened if you had accepted his offer. He could almost hear the sounds of pleasure he would have pulled from you. He imagined how you would have looked as he made you cum, first on his fingers, then on his cock. He stroked himself, thinking about how you might have felt around him. When he came, it was your name on his lips. Now, he listened to you chat and laugh with Jaskier, trying to convince himself that the bard would be a much better option for you. Every time he almost succeeded, he caught a glimpse of your smile or a waft of your scent, and he had to start all over again. 


End file.
